


our hearts are holding hands

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, F/M, Fluff, Handholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 22:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: When the ambassador of PX5-872 told him with a nervous stutter that Major Carter had been inadvertently struck in the lab with a technology designed to stimulate her desire for intimacy, Jack had been expecting to have to quarantine her; had been expecting flushed skin and heaving breaths and maybe Sam pressing her body against his and rolling her hips and begging him to take her.What he hadn’t expected was her hand in his.





	our hearts are holding hands

When the ambassador of PX5-872 told him with a nervous stutter that Major Carter had been inadvertently struck in the lab with a technology designed to stimulate her desire for  _intimacy_ , Jack had been expecting to have to quarantine her; had been expecting flushed skin and heaving breaths and maybe Sam pressing her body against his and rolling her hips and begging him to take her. 

What he hadn’t expected was her hand in his. 

“Sir, I feel fine,” she protested when he suggested they head back for the ‘gate and let Fraiser check her out. “I’m not feeling, um,  _intimate.”_  Her cheeks flushed and Jack sighed and, against his better judgement because they did have a mission to complete and she  _did_ seem fine, he agreed.

Except she  _wasn’t_  fine. They’d been careful, so very, very careful, to not touch each other, to not tempt fate or their own restraint. So when she slipped her hand in his while he was in the middle of negotiations, just a simple cupping of hands. 

“Uh, Carter?”

He held up their joined hands and her eyes widened, cheeks flushing, and she jerked her hand from his. “Sorry, sir,” she said, looking mortified. “I don’t--I don’t know wh--”

The ambassador at the head of the negotiations table cleared his throat nervously. “Major? This may be a side effect of the intimacy stimulation.”

* * *

 

Jack watched as Carter frowned, staring astutely at the table and not at him. “Carter,” he said, voice lowering so only she could hear. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back--”

“No, sir,” she said quickly. “I’m fine. I just...” She trailed off and looked helplessly at him, hand flexing at her side. “I’m fine,” she reiterated, voice stronger and more sure.

Negotiations resumed for the rest of the day and still, all day, Sam’s hand found its way into his--always Jack’s. Sometimes it was a simple cupping of their hands--palm to palm and her thumb swiping over the pulse in his wrist. Other times she interlaced their hands, fingers interweaving and he felt the hot press of her skin to his. 

“Sir, I’m  _sorry._ I can’t help it.”

She moved to tug her hand from his--again. Except he didn’t let her go, instead just wrapping his hand more thoroughly around hers, fingers tangling. 

“’Fer cryin’ out loud, Carter! Just, just stay here.” To his irritation, he felt heat crawl up his neck. He hadn’t just  _held hands_  with someone since the early days of his and Sara’s relationship. 

Sam bit her lip but nodded warily. “Okay,” she said softly, readjusting her grip on his hand and stepping closer to him, their shoulders brushing. 

“Hey, Ambassador, how long did you say this,” he raised his and Sam’s joined hands between them, “was going to last?”

“Twenty four hours at the most, Colonel!”

He turned and grinned at his second-in-command. “See, Carter? ‘Twenty four hours at the most!’”

She smiled at him and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Their twenty four hours were spent attached by the hand--fingers interlocked or hands cupped together. Jack found himself curling his fingers into her palm, nails scratching at the sensitive skin there and grinning when he made her jump in surprise. She retaliated by stroking her thumb over the inside of his wrist, finding the veins beneath the thin skin and following their winding pattern. 

It was, Jack had to admit,  _nice._  After years of forcing himself to not wonder about this kind of casual intimacy with Samantha Carter, suddenly getting twenty four hours of it was overwhelming in the best way possible. 

Later that night, after enduring a healthy dose of teasing from Teal’c and Daniel who had, in solidarity with their teammates, also decided to hold hands for the day (something that made Sam laugh so hard she instinctively raised their joined hands to cover her mouth, only to blush when her lips pressed against the back of his hand), Jack broke the silence that had settled over their camp.

Teal’c and Daniel were long asleep--Daniel’s snores and Teal’c’s deep, meditative hums filling the air--leaving the two of them to hold hands by the fire, huddled together against the cold night air. 

He squeezed their joined hands. “Why?” he asked simply. He wanted to know why  _this_  is what an intimacy stimulator brought out in her--why  _this_  and not kisses or sex or any other number of physical touches. 

Sam licked her lips and dropped her gaze to their hands, using her free hand to trace over the ridges of his knuckles. He sucked in a breath and then breathed out her name, a hint of warning, “ _Carter...”_

Holding hands all day had loosened something in his chest, stretched his restraint. She stilled her motions and simply rested her hand over their joined hands before finally answering his question. 

“My parents weren’t overly affectionate when we were around. We knew they loved each other, of course, but they just didn’t kiss or flirt around me or Mark. I mean, you’ve met my dad, you can imagine. But,” she said, eyes raising to meet his. “They always,  _always_  held hands. In the parking lot, sitting on the couch, walking around the grocery store--it didn’t matter.” She laughed to herself and added, “I’m pretty sure they held hands under the dining table but didn’t think we knew.”

"And then, when my mom died...” Her voice grew thick and Jack squeezed her hand, encouraging her, supporting her. She squeezed back and took a deep breath, continuing. “When my mom died, I found him sitting in their bedroom and he was just staring off at the wall and I sat with him and took his hand and do you know what he told me?”

“What?” Jack asked, voice soft. 

“He told me that he just realized he would never hold her hand again and that hurt more than anything else.”

Jack disentangled their hands and he slung an arm over Sam’s shoulders, offering her the warmth and comfort of his body, his hug. He knew the pain--that sharp ache--of talking about a deceased loved one. Sam tangled her hand with his on her shoulder and sighed in relief when their hands pressed together once more. 

“So,” she said, voice muffled against his field jacket. “Holding hands,” she squeezed his hand with hers, “is kinda my hallmark for intimacy.”

Jack rubbed his thumb over the side of her hand and then moved so he could rub over her knuckles. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He let the warmth of the fire, the warmth of their hands and bodies, the warmth of the knowledge that  _he_  was the one she wanted to be intimate with, settle over him.

“Hey, Sam?”

She hummed in response, staring at the dancing sparks of the fire popping up into the night sky and disappearing in the cool air. 

He dipped his head and brushed his lips against her ear. “You can always hold my hand.”

It wasn’t a confession of love and it wasn’t an engagement ring--but it was a promise.  _I’ll be the hand to hold; I’ll be the hand reaching for you, for as long as you want me._

She turned so their lips were a hair’s breadth apart and she let her gaze wander to his lips, pink and plush and inviting. She imagined a life of holding hands with him--the kind of gentle, casual intimacy that she had longed for her whole life. She imagined him tugging her close by their joined hands and kissing her softly; tugging her up if she ever falls down; sliding his hand into hers and solidifying them as a team, a unit. 

That was waiting for her--a hand to hold--when they were done saving the world. 

Instead of closing the gap between their lips, she ducked her head and rested it on his shoulder, waiting out the last few hours of the intimacy machine. 

“You can hold my hand, too, Jack.” 

For now, their joined hands and soft promises on a planet a few million lightyears from Earth was enough. 


End file.
